Iridescent and beautiful

is the flotilla of grace,

fragile offspring of the sea!

Mothered by the surf

and fathered by the wind,

conceived within the instant,

they are cast from a passionate union,

thrown headlong

into the exhilarating dance of a lifetime.

Across the saturated sands they fly,

their fragile chemistries at once

enabling and condemning,

for their unfettered whirls

across the narrow beaches

find imminent conclusions

when the whimsical spheres are spent

in instances as brief

as those which birthed them.

The circumstances of their demise

arrive so suddenly and

so completely

as to make a case

for their fleeting moment

of dance upon the beach

having been rather epic

after all.

We humans, it seems,

have entirely too much in common

with these bubble dancers . . .

. . . Mothered by a restless ocean

fathered by a careless breeze

they shall never know devotion

they shall never seek to please;

lightly go the bubble dancers

swept across a sandy floor,

dancing to their muted music,

suddenly, to be, no more.

                                            By Duane Huddleston
                                May 10, 2005